


A False Step, A Trespass

by sonicSymphony



Series: Terrestrial Trolling [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Humanstuck, Urban Exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:17:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonicSymphony/pseuds/sonicSymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Eridan Ampora—who is living proof that being a legal adult doesn't suddenly make you wise—goes to scope out an abandoned inn with his girlfriend Feferi so he can put an article on his shared urban exploration blog. To be completely honest, he's more excited about shenanigans that may occur in the hotel room than any shit that might be in some creaky old inn.</p>
<p>(Though he <i>is</i> pretty damn excited about the aforementioned inn, because the history of it is interesting. He's kind of a nerd.)</p>
<p>Alternate titles: "This is Why You Shouldn't Blunder Into Places Unprepared," "Eridan You Should Know By Now That You Should Listen to Feferi When She Has a Weird Feeling," and "All He Wanted Were Some Pictures For His Blog and THIS Is What He Fucking Gets."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A False Step, A Trespass

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work that is completely unrelated to any others I have published, though you may not be able to tell from first glance, seeing as 90% of the shit I write is humanstuck erifef. I think I have a problem.
> 
> Anyway, I got an itch to write something like this after I tasted firsthand the fun that comes with what the kids are calling "urban exploration". Despite the feeling that you're going to get caught at any second, it's pretty fun! That, however, was a while ago, and this has been sitting in a word document since NaNoWriMo, so I figured I'd throw it up.
> 
> The fic is unbeta'd, so if I made a spelling error somewhere, don't hesitate to yell at me about it!
> 
> **4/27/2016 Update** : I have changed the title! Again! It went from Locational Trolling to No Trespassing, and finally to A False Step, A Trespass. Since there are now two other works in the series, I think you can see a theme here. The title this time comes from the Greek word _paraptóma_ (παράπτωμα): offense, a falling away, lapse, slip, false step, trespass, sin.

You started what your father disapprovingly calls “trespassing” when you were about twelve, and you only started taking pictures when you were fourteen or so. There was something you always liked about a place that was quiet and abandoned, untouched for years before you came along, so you kept finding new areas to explore. It was like unlocking pieces of a map in an adventure game; the pictures you took counted as achievements. As you’re an exhibitionist in a lot of ways, you wanted a place to brag about what you did and find other places to scout, so you started surfing forums and finding others with similar interests, and that’s how you found your blogging partners. _Terrestrial Trolling_ —it’s very important to know that you did _not_ come up with the name—is run by yours truly (New Haven, Connecticut), Aradia Megido (Miyazaki, Japan), Nepeta Leijon (Cheonan, South Korea), and Karkat Vantas (Orbetello, Italy). Ara was the one who decided to put it together, and all of you could actually write pretty well when you didn’t use your weird typing quirks. You had to edit Kar’s entries at the beginning because your warning of, “ _You can’t have an f bomb in every sentence, it’s uncouth,”_ went unheeded. 

_Terrestrial Trolling_ takes a lot to upkeep, even if it’s not just you running the blog. You and the rest of your band of urban explorers are a relatively popular group, and you think that may be in part because of the variety of places you cover (and also because you’re so fucking hot). Now you’re in college, and the blog has been gaining recognition for three years. Your last piece on the steam tunnels of Yale University got some positive recognition on the forums, and you’re still preening from that, but then the other three posted things so it’s technically your turn now.

Your next project isn’t going to be as ambitious, but you’ve wanted to check this place out for quite a while now. Last time you and your dad went hunting, you stayed in a small town in upstate New York, and you heard about this inn that was shut down suddenly for no good reason. It was supposed to be “scenic,” off the main road and by a pretty lake and some hills, so no one’s going to see you break in. You took a quick look at it while you were in town, and there were broken windows and a few random beer bottles, but there was no evidence of security cameras or anything like that. Extra research made it look safe enough, so you arranged to make the three-hour drive from campus with your girlfriend/partner in crime.

The car ride west is spent chattering about things like the guest lecturer a few days ago and the release of the new season of _Orange is the New Black_. You check into a hotel with the promise of scoping out the place tomorrow, order room service, reply to a couple of comments on _Terrestrial Trolling_ , and update your own personal Tumblr.

_Fef and I are gonna check out this abandoned inn tomorrow, so if you don’t hear from me within the next couple of days, I was dragged into hell by vengeful spirits. I’ll probably post some raw shots on here, plus some of the Arkville Cemetery if we make it over there afterward (I know Ara will want some shots) so there’ll be some content soon. In the mean time, I’m sort of in a cat video mood, so expect a couple of those right after I post this._

* * *

 

“It doesn’t look all that ominous,” Fef comments as she steps out of the passenger side of the car. It’s a log cabin with two large stone chimneys, wrap around porches lining both stories, and broken windows with shutters either hanging on by a hinge or collapsed on the ground. You can see the lake peeking around from behind the inn, and there’s a little shack on the side with a lone canoe visible through the window. It’s a surprise that no one had ever stolen it.

Snorting a laugh, you say, “You didn’t think the _insane asylum_ we toured in Massachusetts was creepy, so I’ve learned to just ignore your opinions on the places we look at and just go with my own gut. You like creepy shit too much for your own good, Fef.”

Like a regular fine lady of twenty years, she sticks her tongue out at you and flounces toward the building, treading lightly up the steps. “Hello?” she calls in through one of the broken windows. After listening for a few seconds, she reports, “No homeless people or alcoholics present!”

Rolling your eyes good-naturedly, you ascend the stairs and try the door handle. It’s locked, so you and Fef go in through one of the windows, wary of the shards glass decorating the edges and floor inside; you learned a lesson when at a different place, you stepped on a fragment and it went through your shoe and into your foot. Having stitches in your heel was _not_ fun.

On the inside, you can tell that it was once a cozy inn, with a huge stone fireplace in the back of the check in area/restaurant that you’re sure roared in the winter, overturned tables and barstools, and tattered curtains. Another canoe is sticking in through one of the back windows, like someone has used it to smash the glass. To your surprise, the cash register is still on top of the check-in desk.

“Whoever left did so in a hurry,” Fef observes as you approach it. The cash drawer is open, and sadly, it’s empty. No extra spending money for you, but that’s okay; the whole “broke college student” thing is hard to do when your family is rolling in money.

The two of you look around downstairs, you taking pictures of dusty surfaces and interesting views with your Canon Rebel, and Feferi heading out back to see the view of the lake. There’s a wall lined with old photos and newspaper clippings from bass and trout fishing competitions, plus a trophy for some waterskiing thing. Near it are several racks of deer antlers, and there are some decent sized ones—even a few eleven and twelve pointers, which you’ve never managed to nab in this area. After snapping a picture of that rustic display, you head back into the managerial office.

There are still all sorts of things in the file cabinets: guest records, old bills, and even tax returns were all left in the drawers, but there’s nothing to suggest why everyone left in such a hurry. You guess it was a bit _too_ hopeful to figure you’d find a detailed police report, but you presumed there would be _something_ there to give you a clue what went down.

Disappointed, you head back to the main dining area, where Fef is beginning to ascend the stairs. She turns to look at you, saying, “Come on, slowpoke!”

Lifting your eyes to the ceiling, you follow, leaving your camera dangling around your neck. The stairs creak with your weight and it’s hard to see if the wood is rotting under the carpet the old owners had placed over them, but it seems like they’ll hold up. The second floor is home to multiple bedrooms: one at the end of the hall you can automatically mark as the owners’, and four others. Down to the right, there’s a square cut out in the ceiling with a hatch and a string hanging down that you think is the attic.

You and Fef break into all of the bedrooms. There’s a pair of old bloomers under one of the beds, an old calendar is tacked to the wall, and a moldy crack trailing down one of the walls, but otherwise the only things left in each are the furniture—beds, to be precise. You can see dents and lines in the floor where tables and chairs were, but they were either taken when the owners evacuated or people broke in and stole them. Almost all of the windows are broken, resulting in a cool draft that moves the curtains.

Usually, you’d find that sort of thing unsettling, but there’s something that feels sort of _safe_ here. Yeah, though Ara may have been the one that obsessed over the paranormal, and while you are a _very_ strong proponent for science, that doesn’t mean getting facial recognition in a dark corner or hearing the floors creak even when no one is walking on them doesn’t creep you out a little bit.

And that has happened more times than you like to admit—on multiple cameras, you might add, so it’s definitely not your baby’s problem.

Fef’s reaction to creepy shit is one of the reasons you bring her along—she’s both rational and a bit superstitious, but her sort of belief contains neither fear nor uneasiness. She has tried to convince you to perform séances or bringing Ouija boards to places you visit, but you have yet to give in. You’re sure if Fef and Ara met in person they’d be burning incense and talking to the dead in ten seconds flat. The sort of comfort she has with it all means that she can snap you out of it when you’re being irrational, and in times of extreme anxiety, she serves as confirmation. Even though you tease her for being unflappable, she’s lovely to have along.

While she’s not looking, you take a selfie using a cracked mirror leaning against the wall in the final bedroom, and even in the smudged surface you look pretty awesome in your burgundy cardigan, black skinny jeans, and hiking boots. You left your scarf in the car because it could get caught on something, but when it’s around your neck, it really completes the look.

When Fef comes across you, she sighs with an exasperated but affectionate smile, saying, “You vain motherglubber,” and pulling you along. She doesn’t appreciate the art form that is taking a good selfie.

You’ll hit the basement when you go back downstairs—you always leave those for last, seeing as they’re always the eeriest parts of buildings of every kind—but there’s still the attic up here, so you head over to the handle hanging from the ceiling and prepare to pull.

“You know how you say that I never get weird feelings?” Fef says from behind you.

You pause with you hand on the golf ball connected to the string. “…Yeah?”

“Well, I have one now,” Fef elaborates. “Are you sure you should go in the attic of an abandoned building? There could be water damage or rats.”

Pulling on the cord swings the hatch open, and you pull down the creaky ladder, putting your foot on the bottom rung in preparation to climb. You’re not entirely reckless, so you give it a shake to see if it seems stable. You think it’ll hold. “I just want to get a shot or two, just so we can say we covered all the bases. We’ll hit the basement on the way out. Anyway, isn’t _that_ supposed to be the creepy area of haunted houses?”

“Fine, you dweeb, _don’t_ listen to me,” she huffs, but doesn’t really seem angry. “I’ll be right behind you.”

The first thing you notice when you go up and shine your flashlight is that sections of the plywood floor are rotten, and the stench of mildew is thick in the humid air. “Watch your step,” you warn as you step out onto a safe looking piece of floor.

Once Fef is off the ladder, you take a picture. There’s really nothing interesting up here: some garlands and a light up snowman are shoved in a corner, an empty overturned file cabinet is up against a support beam, puffs of fiberglass insulation are _everywhere_ , and there are some papers scattered on the ground about ten feet away.

You head over there, thinking that maybe they’ll be old records, and then there’s a snapping sound and you’re falling through the ceiling.

Your only instinct is to clutch your camera to your chest. Fef screams, and then you hit the floor below, feet first and _hard_. There’s a loud crack and you think you must’ve broken one of the wooden floorboards even though you _swear_ you’re not fat; _thanks,_ gravity. You’ve landed in the hallway you were just in, a few meters from the ladder that Fef is now hurrying down, exclaiming things like, “Oh my god, Eridan, I _told_ you we shouldn’t have gone in the attic, are you okay?”

“I think I’m…” you start to say, inspecting yourself. Your camera is still on (you may have accidentally snapped a shot of the wall flying by as you fell) and—

“Oh god,” you say as you notice that there’s a strange bend in your right leg and your foot isn’t quite in line with the rest of you. “Oh god, _fuck_.”

Fef gasps and crouches down beside you, hands hovering above your foot. “Does it feel broken?”

“I… don’t really feel anything,” you say, and you try to take a deep breath but it’s surprisingly hard to do. “Let’s see if I can get up.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Fef warns, but you shift anyway and turn your leg just a little bit.

The world explodes.

It takes every ounce of your willpower not to throw up everywhere. You swallow down the bile and think that _nope_ , you won’t be trying to put weight on that again any time soon, no way.

“We should take your boot off before it swells,” Fef says, and you see the logic but you really don’t want to, so you just clench your teeth and nod. “Do you want me do to it?”

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, curling your hands into fists. The pain has peaked and dulled, but you have a feeling that this next step isn’t going to be a picnic. “Go.”

She carefully unties and loosens the laces as much as she can, sticking the tongue of the boot out before cautiously tugging the back off your heel. Your breath hisses through your teeth and she pauses, but you grit, “No, keep going.” She manages to maneuver the boot off your foot, revealing an oddly bent sock as your heel hits the floor. You yelp in pain, tears coming to your eyes.

“Good,” she praises like you’re a little kid, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “I think that’ll be the worst of it. Do you want to rest a minute or try for the car?”

Not wanting to admit defeat—even when you have to quickly wipe your eyes before she sees you crying (she saw)—you say, “Let’s just go.”

Your arm goes around her shoulders and she grabs your waist tightly as she painstakingly pulls you up, your bad leg between you. You manage to hobble five steps before you have to stop and lean against a wall, panting out sobs about fifteen feet from the stairs. Oh _god_ , how are you supposed to descend those when you can’t even traverse a _flat_ surface, for Christ’s sake? “Maybe we should call 911,” Fef suggests.

“No, we’re trespassing,” you grit out between your teeth.

“But you can’t—”

“Yes I _can_ ,” you bite, and you hate how she shrinks back, but she has to know it’s the pain talking. “Just… just wait a second, it’ll probably die down again.”

“That’s because you’re going into shock,” she says, but you focus on trying to lengthen your breaths and not throwing up. You lean heavier against the wall as you raise a hand to wipe sweat off your brow. “Maybe I should go to the car and get your scarf and wrap it around your ankle, so it doesn’t bounce as much.”

You just shake your head from the moment she starts talking. “No, Fef, let’s—” You try to take another deep breath, “Let’s just go.”

It feels like an eternity by the time you’re getting lowered into the passenger seat. You hand Fef the keys so she can drive and ask Siri for directions to the nearest hospital, because your hands are shaking too much to type it in. Fef starts your Mercedes and backs out of the small parking lot before shooting down the road.

“Make a right,” you tell her when she reaches the main road, and after a couple more turns, you’ve arrived about five minutes later; the town you’re in is a small one, and everything is pretty close together. You’re pleasantly surprised that they even _have_ a hospital. Fef parks and tells you to wait in the car while she gets a nurse or something and she comes back a few minutes later with a wheelchair. You swallow your pride, sigh loudly, and unbuckle your seatbelt.

The next few hours are excruciating. They grill you for insurance information, pump you full of pain medication, make you take a plethora of x-rays, and withhold coffee from you until they confirm that all of your shock symptoms are gone. The only good part is when you take an emergency room selfie and post it on Tumblr, because it gets eleven notes, plus about five asks worrying and questioning if you’re okay; your followers love you. Fef holds your hand when she can, and you’re sure hers has to be aching because of how tightly you’ve gripped it at some points. It’s early evening by the time you hobble out of the building on crutches with a heavy fiberglass cast on your leg and instructions to take a mixture of ibuprofen and acetaminophen for the pain.

You got black for the color of the bandaging, since it matches everything, and that’s really the only remotely bright side to this entire escapade. The house wasn’t really all that interesting, you never got in the basement, everyone is going to laugh at you for falling through the fucking ceiling, and oh _yeah_ , you broke your fucking ankle. Your dad is going to _love_ seeing that when you come home for Thanksgiving.

After running to CVS to get some provisions, you head back to the hotel room. You thank god for elevators so you don’t have to stumble up the stairs—honestly, you’re tired enough that you’d probably make it to the third step and fall down, breaking even more bones—and when you get back to the room, Fef makes you a throne on the bed. Blankets and pillows surround you, with your leg propped up so it’s elevated, and you have complete control over the TV remote. You try to find something to watch while Fef is fetching ice, but there’s really nothing on that isn’t shitty so you wait for her to come back so she can hand you your laptop.

As you wait, you pull out your phone and snap a picture of your cast and the toes sticking out of it. _Look what happened when I went exploring to take pictures for you unappreciative fucks,_ you caption before posting it to both Tumblr and Instagram. Later, you’ll update it with a similar shot, but with your toenails purple, since Fef will decide to give you a pedicure.

Once there’s a makeshift icepack resting on top of your cast, Fef balances the laptop between the two of you and you curl into each other, getting as comfortable as you can with the throbbing weight in your ankle, and you pull up Netflix.

 

* * *

 

CG: YOU DID WHAT?!  
CA: hey before you really explode on me ill havve you knoww i got plenty a pictures before it happened  
CG: YOU’RE NEVER FUCKING CAREFUL ENOUGH I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN EVENTUALLY.  
CA: dont be mad i think this happenin is punishment enough  
CA: it hurt A LOT kar  
CG: THAT’S NOT THE POINT YOU IDIOTIC COCK SOCKET.  
CA: wwoww for someone wwhose first language isnt english you sure know howw to throww a nice insult together  
CG: I DON’T EVEN HAVE A RESPONSE FOR THAT  
CA: wwait a sec did you just call me a  
CG: SHUT UP.  
CG: JUST GET SOME REST, YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE A LONG DRIVE TOMORROW.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think this fic had anything that was considered "Graphic Descriptions of Violence" but maybe I could add a gore tag? I don't know, it's not bad to me, but I know people sometimes have triggers and if you feel like I should've tagged this with something, tell me and I'll add it.
> 
> I like this 'verse. I may come back to it eventually, but seeing as I'm working on another behemoth of a fic, for now this will be a standalone.


End file.
